


Cat Scratch

by chewysugar



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Guilt, Hand Jobs, No Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: They've been through so much together, but that doesn't mean Selina is closer to understanding the turmoil behind the cowl. When Bruce comes to her with a highly unusual proposition, she takes it, and in doing so, sees through the layers to the man underneath.





	Cat Scratch

A call to the immaculate offices of Wayne Enterprises was ordinarily one for speculation among most people. Possessing the remarkable quality of not being remotely like most, Selina Kyle strode into the vast front foyer as if she herself owned and operated the place. Dressed in a strapless, tight fitting black dress, she drew stares from a good many people, some of ridicule and others of interest.

Gliding to the front desk, she gave the receptionist a smile and said, "I have an appointment with Mister Wayne."  
  
Had it been anyone else but Tamara Fox sitting behind the frozen marble, Selina would likely have endured another scornful stare. But Tam only smirked and said, "Thanks be to goodness it's only you. I was worried I'd have to deal with somebody important. Tam nodded at the central elevators. "You know the way, Sel."  
  
"I don't mean to sound like Camilla Parker-Bowles, but aren't you going to announce me?"  
  
"And waste more of my valuable breath? Pass. Besides, he's been waiting with hot coals up his ass for you since three o'clock."  
  
"Really now?" Selina's green eyes flashed with interest. "Well that just tickles me pink." She sauntered towards the elevator, her mind racing with intrigue at what in the world could have gotten Bruce so ruffled.  
  
Certainly he looked preoccupied when he showed Selina into his office in the topmost floor of the building. His suit was open, and his tie had been long discarded. When he locked the door behind her, Selina knew that he wasn't kidding around.  
  
"To what do I owe the honor?" Selina asked as Bruce pulled out a chair. Close up, she saw that the shadows under his eyes were more profound than usual, and he hadn't had a shave in what appeared to be weeks.  
  
"There's something I wanted to ask you," Bruce said. He braced his hands on the surface of his desk, and then instantly returned to a state of agitated animation. "Did you want something to drink? I've got the cognac from Christmas stowed away. You liked that one, didn't you?"  
  
"Ye-ees," Selina said slowly as she sank into her seat. "I did." She watched him move with a strange anxiety to the sleek cabinet at the end of the office. It was on the tip of Selina’s tongue to ask just what had gotten under Bruce’s skin when a stack of discarded newspapers on the desk caught her ever-observant eye.  
  
Her heart sank.

 

The cover story had been making its rounds in every news outlet from here to Blüdhaven. Selina had anticipated that it would be weighing heavily on Bruce's heart—crimes involving children left orphan tended to affect him on a deep level. In this case, the family that had been gunned down during the heist had lost two parents and all but one of the four children.  
  
Selina caught Bruce's eye, knowing full well that he likely despised the pity she was showing him.  
  
"I suppose 'it wasn't your fault' would be an egregious waste of breath?" Selina said with a sigh. When he made to respond she held up her hand for silence, took the tumbler of cognac and sucked the whole thing back in one go. "What can I do you for, Mister Wayne?"  
  
Bruce stared at the surface of his desk for a moment. Selina had never seen him look so out of sorts before; it unnerved her, and she wished he'd offer her more cognac.  
  
"There's something I need your help with," Bruce said at last.  
  
"My help? As in my extracurricular expertise?"  
  
Bruce shook his head. "No. This wouldn't involve them."  
  
" _Us_ ," Selina reminded him patiently. Bruce's habit of dissociating himself from his cowled alter ego had often worried her. Now she wondered if it was taking more of a toll on him than usual.  
  
Bruce inclined his head, a muscle twitching in his strong jaw. "Us." Again he paused, confliction dancing across eyes as blue as a haunted river. After further indecision, he opened a draw in his desk; Selina heard a faint click, and supposed Bruce had opened some fashion of false bottom in the desk. He withdrew a black leather folder, which he pushed across the table.  
  
"How exciting," Selina said, completely bewildered. Any doings involving Batman and Catwoman were usually discussed verbally. Bruce had said that the reason for his summoning of her had nothing to do with either identity, yet for the nine lives of her Selina couldn't imagine what all this was about if it involved her directly.  
  
"Strictly confidential," Bruce said, again uncharacteristically nervous. "And I think it would be better if you read to the end before you go...well, giving me your thoughts."  
  
Selina gave him a tight-lipped smile in return and opened the dossier.

 

By the time she got to the fifth line, she was somewhat startled. By the time she reached the end of the first page she was highly amused; however, upon reaching the third page, she realized that Bruce was completely serious. Still, despite her utter disbelief, she did as he'd asked and read the entire seven-page document to its conclusion.  
  
Bruce had turned faintly pink; his fingers curled around the arms of  
his leather office chair and he purposefully avoided Selina's gaze in the immediate seconds following her closing the dossier.  
  
Selina found it difficult to be rendered speechless under the best of circumstances. Now she felt as if she had a tribble lodged in her throat.  
  
She wanted to ask Bruce if he was feeling alright; of course she could tell both from the state of him and just what he'd drawn up in those seven pages that he wasn't alright. But all that escaped her lips was a soft, "Are you serious?"  
  
Bruce looked her dead in the eye, the severity of his gaze like a gunshot. "Completely. I've given it a lot of thought--  
  
"That's understating it," Selina said airily.  
  
"There are psychological studies about this kind of thing," Bruce went on. "It isn't just for the pleasure of it, Selina. I think it really might be of some help to me."  
  
The mundanity of the conversation was so grievously at odds with the subject that Selina had to laugh.  
  
"And you want me to do the honors because of my experience in these matters," she sighed. "I think I'm flattered. Is it the whip or the claws that put you in mind of little old me?"  
  
"None of that," Bruce said. "I trust you more than a lot of people. Only Alfred and the boys come in second."  
  
"Then why not get one of them to do it?"  
  
Bruce actually smiled, and Selina felt that perhaps he wasn't as far gone as she'd thought. "You'd be disappointed if I didn't get that sort of thing on camera," he said.  
  
"You really do know me too well, Bruce."  
  
"They're family, Selina," Bruce said, the corners of his lips still twitching at her remark. "It would be the worst kind of unusual."  
  
"And why prove people on Twitter right, right?" Selina sighed again. She eyed the leather bound document cover again, this time with furtive interest. "You're really on the level with this?"  
  
"I wouldn't trust anyone else with something so personal," Bruce said.  
  
He really did look so exhausted, and Selina knew that this whole scenario likely had to do with that family now staring out everlastingly from the front page of the _Gotham Gazette_.  
  
"Alright," Selina said, taking a pen from the holder nearest her. "Alright, I'll do it." She signed her name on the appropriate lines, feeling as if she'd just entered into a contract with the Devil.  
  
\---  
  
Selina had never been one to back out once committed to something. Therefore, as she'd agreed to in the drawn up contract, she arrived at Wayne Manor the night after her meeting with Bruce at nine on the money. Alighting from the hired limo, she walked briskly up the drive, a stylish but immense black bag around her shoulder.  
  
Wayne Manor was a haunted place—had always been. Even if the ghosts dwelling within weren't the kind seen in a pool of silvery moonlight, they still held sway over the living. All the dead in Gotham coalesced in the masonry, playing in the mind of the manor’s master.  
  
Which was why, Selina reminded herself, she had agreed to this whole unorthodox caper.  
  
Alfred let her in, that barely repressed smile on his lips when he saw her standing on the front landing.  
  
"Miss Kyle. Always a pleasure."  
  
"Right back at you, Alfred." Selina chose to ignore the accidental entendre in the butler's words. He likely thought she was here for a run-of-the-mill rendezvous with Bruce.  
  
On the outside, the grand estate looked like it had clawed its way out of an Emily Bronte novel. Inside, however many cavernous secrets it held, Wayne Manor carried the true air of home; and one of the reasons being made itself noticed before Selina had even crossed to the staircase.  
  
Dick Grayson sauntered across the floor from the kitchen, a pint of ice cream in one hand and two spoons in the other. He grinned when he saw Selina.  
  
"What's new, pussycat?"  
  
"Right as rain, birdbrain." It was remarkable—some said unhealthily uncanny—how similar he looked to Bruce, although Selina had to agree with general public consensus that Dick Grayson had the best, most perfect, bubble butt in the entire universe. Not that Dick would go for it if Selina ever told him, for a good many reasons besides the fact that she felt like the kid's babysitter.  
  
"How's the boyfriend?"  
  
"Jason is--  
  
At that moment, a loud shout of, " _Oh go suck a fuck, you limp-dicked son of a whore,"_ sounded from one of the rooms down the second floor hall.  
  
Dick winced. "Jason is playing a video game," he said by way of explanation.  
  
"Heaven is a place on Earth with him," Selina quoted from the Lana del Rey song. "Speaking of melancholia, has Bruce been acting strange at all lately?"  
  
Dick shrugged. "He's been stiff, distant and withdrawn. So no. Not too unusual. Why?"  
  
Again, Selina thought about the contract she'd signed. Her face actually turned slightly pink as she ran over the mental list she'd made of Bruce's stipulations.  
  
"Jesus, Selina. Are you alright?" Dick paused near the door to his and Jason's shared room.  
  
"Hm? Cool as a kitty kennel." She waved her goodbye and continued through the manor, feeling her trepidation rise with every step. But she wouldn't back down, no matter what misgivings she had. Firstly, there was a legal document binding her to this little adventure; secondly, there was something up Bruce's bat cave, and Selina wanted to know what it was and more importantly, what she could do to help.  
  
At least outside of what she'd agreed to.  
  
He was waiting for her in the master bedroom on the third floor. In typical Bruce Wayne fashion, he'd prepared for her arrival: on a folding table in the middle of the room were an assortment of shackles, ropes and chains. Selina raked this erotic array with one swift glance as she dropped her bag to the floor.  
  
"I hope the ride over didn't give you any trouble," Bruce said curtly.  
  
Selina rolled her eyes. "I'm doing just fine Bruce, thank you for asking. And you look dashing yourself so there's no need to pay me any compliments."  
  
His gaze fell to the carpet; strange how someone so tall and strong could behave like a scolded little boy. Something in that comparison made Selina feel as if she'd stumbled upon the entrance to the Cave of Wonders; but she refused to go through and explore the darkness that lay in the solution. Bruce was best to her at face value, no matter how much she could see under every one of his masks.  
  
"I'm sorry," Bruce said. "It's only that this is still a little strange to me."  
  
"You?" Selina smirked, closed the space between them and gently caressed his stubbly jaw, turning his head so that he could look her in the eyes. "How do you think I feel? I'm flattered you asked me, but it isn't exactly conventional."  
  
"Would you rather be on the receiving end?"  
  
"Oh hell no. That's way too _Fifty Shades_ for me."  
  
Bruce chuckled, his hands snaking up Selina's bare arms to rest on her shoulders. "You'd wipe the floor with Anastasia Steele."  
  
"Damn straight. And you'd wrap Christian Grey up into a pretzel and chuck him out the window."  
  
"And then some."  
  
Selina had learned to savor such moments because she knew how precious they were. Bruce Wayne didn't make the top run for emotional availability on the best of days. True to form, he looked away from her and returned to his business manner.  
  
"I'll make myself ready," he said, stepping towards the en suite bathroom. "Unless you need--  
  
"I know how to set these things up," Selina sighed. He could barely stay in her touch for thirty seconds, yet they'd agree to this bizarre meeting. "You just freshen up and leave the technical stuff to me, lover boy."  
  
Bruce nodded and withdrew to the bathroom, why Selina didn't know. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before.  
  
The silence that followed Bruce's departure grew interminable after only a few seconds. Selina surveyed her surroundings, a habit born out of instinct. The room looked much as it always did: California king size bed, modern furniture, burgundy curtains over the windows. But Selina saw something aside from the table of bondage toys that made the whole affair settle in her mind as decidedly real. Bruce has affixed a series of eye-hooks into the walls of his room. Selina wasn't prudish enough to not know what he wanted to use them for. He'd done a thorough enough job outlining his requests in that damnable contract.  
  
Yet here she was and there she had it. Nothing to be done now but comply. Besides, she told herself as she began to thread the considerable length of ropes through the hooks around the bedroom, it wasn't as if she hadn't experimented with this kind of play before.  
  
At least he hadn't asked her to wear her Catwoman suit.  
  
The bathroom door opened. Selina finished tying the last length of cord, and then turned to face Bruce.  
  
She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Really now? A towel? Are you that bashful, Bruce?"  
  
Bruce looked as discomfited as it was possible for him to be. "I didn't know if you wanted to...I mean, I thought that you might want to reconsider, is all."  
  
"Why on Earth would I do that? I signed your contract. And I want to help. With whatever it is that's weighing you down." She sighed the last words wistfully, even as her eyes raked over the Herculean strength of Bruce's chest and arms and legs. Scars of almost every description marked his body, from claw marks that she herself had given him to bullet holes and other faded memorials of his life of danger. They gave what could have been a mouthwatering, masculine mystique an heir of tragedy. Bruce's scars didn't serve to highlight his bravery or daredevil attitude the way they did in other men: they only painted him as one who cared dick for his own wellbeing. Or perhaps Selina only thought that of them because she knew the story behind nearly every last one.  
  
Bruce shifted. Selina supposed it was a small victory that he was already pitching a tent behind the towel wrapped around his waist. "I thought you might have felt trapped..."  
  
"Bruce, you really are a wonder, you know that? When have you ever known me to do anything I didn't want to do?"  
  
"I know. That's what's so wonderful about you."  
  
Even though pleased heat rose behind Selina's breast at the words, she still said, "Didn't the contract say something about keeping the emotional intimacy to a bare minimum?" She instantly hated herself for batting his sincere words down, but Bruce had, in a small way, hit the nail in the head: now that she was here, Selina wasn't entirely certain that she could do what he'd asked of her.  
  
_Get a grip, Kyle_ , she thought. She never backed down from a challenge; in any case, this had long since ceased to be anything of the kind. Bruce needed her help.  
  
Selina had worn many masks in her life: criminal, hero, lover, mentor. It was too easy for her to slip into a second skin. It wasn't any different now. The imperceptible change went completely unnoticed by Bruce, at least until Selina lifted the straps of her silky black dress and slid them down her shoulders so that they clung to just under the smooth skin of her shoulder blades.  
  
"Come here then," Selina said, her voice dropping to a purr. "Once you drop that towel then the games begin. We both follow the contract. That means that you do as I say."  
  
"Yes," Bruce said, his voice dusky and low. Selina noticed how hard he was behind the fabric; she licked her lips in anticipation of seeing him bared to her. Taking the sight of her tongue as incentive, Bruce stepped across the room to stand beside the set up table with its erotic accouterments. He tucked a thumb into the side of his towel and shucked it off in one swift movement.  
  
He stood with his fists balled at his sides, his gaze averted, a pink tinge on his face. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before; but this wasn't like those other times when they would cling to each other on a frenzy of shredded clothes and need—this was him putting himself on display to her: an exhibition of flesh and steely muscle and unadulterated maleness.  
  
Selina had toyed with enough men to understand that to view a man's hard cock was to expose his soul: everything about the sex was encapsulated to some degree in that unyielding shaft and rosy head. Under present circumstances, Bruce was not only baring his soul, he was trusting Selina to stretch it to a breaking point.  
  
Selina surveyed Bruce's body like a sumptuous piece of steak: the broadness of his shoulders and the hard planes of his pecs and abs made her skin prickle with needy warmth. Sparse dark hairs covered his chest, tapering into a trail that led to his hard length, now rigid against the flats of his abdomen. His balls hung low and full like the fruit of Tantalus.

  
He was hers now.  
  
The game had begun.  
  
"Turn around," Selina said. Bruce did as he was bid, giving Selina a view of his ass. "Not bad," she said, raking her nails over the skin of his backside. "You've got nothing on Richard, though. But I guess you knew that already, didn't you?"  
  
Bruce's jaw tensed. Selina frowned, seized the back of his hair in her fingers and jerked his neck backwards just hard enough to elicit a sharp hiss of pain from him.  
  
"When I ask you a question," Selina said, lips pressed against his ear, "I expect you to answer me."  
  
She saw the flash of resistance in his eyes; a momentary spark of anger clawed at her throat. How dare he defy her when she'd willingly entered into this game on his behalf? But then the fire of disobedience died. Bruce nodded and said in a throaty voice, "Yes. I know it."  
  
Selina smiled, brushing a featherlight trail with the back of her knuckles from his neck down to his abs. "Are you proud of your son, Bruce?"  
  
"Y-yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Bruce looked at her through heavily lidded eyes. Selina slowly wrapped her fingers around his aching length smirking in satisfaction when he let out a ragged gasp. Just because she was playing this game didn't mean she was going to play nice; the contract had stipulated very, very few limits and as long as those boundaries were gone, she was going to get her own satisfaction out of crossing them.  
  
When he hesitated, her hand stilled, her nails digging ever so slightly into the skin of his throbbing cock.  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"He's got heart," Bruce grunted. "After everything he's gone through he hasn't...ended up like me. He's brave and intelligent and...good."  
  
Selina rewarded him with a long, luxurious stroke from base to tip. Bruce swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the wall.  
  
"And Tim?"  
  
"He's s-smarter than anyone I know," Bruce rasped. "And he's so l-loyal to everyone..."  
  
Selina fondled Bruce's sac, digging her nails ever so slightly into the sensitive skin. "And Jason?"  
  
Of course it would be the one he tripped over. He hesitated, and Selina rewarded his silence by squeezing the delicate globe of his testicles with merciless force.  
  
"He's my failure," Bruce gasped. "But he c-came back. He's trying...trying so hard..."  
  
Pleased with his answers, Selina relinquished her hold on Bruce's body. "Don't move," she said in a tone that demanded his cooperation. "Not a muscle. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes," Bruce said quietly.  
  
Bruce had laid out a considerable supply of rope, and Selina knew exactly how to bind him. Knots and loops wound around him, tressing his body in a perfect rope harness. He struggled at first, the vulnerability of having his arms behind his back and his wrists bound at utter odds with the control he so cherished in his life. But when Selina wound a tether around the base of his throbbing cock and aching balls, Bruce stilled, breathing heavily.  
  
"Good boy," Selina said, giving his bound balls a playful slap. She then tethered the ropes at his wrists and ankles to the system of loops in the walls, keeping him immobile and at her mercy.  
  
Selina had to admit that he made an exquisite sight. There were people she know both socially and by reputation who would have given their lives to have seen Bruce Wayne tied and out in such brazen display. But even as she raked him with a hungry stare—even as she felt the wetness at the front of her panties intensify—she felt that there was some horrible euphemism to all this. Did he really just want to get his rocks off being at her mercy? Bruce Wayne never did anything out of passion, unless someone or something really got under his skin. He planned meticulously, lived and breathed forethought and retrospect.  
  
What was the meaning of this?  
  
_Carefully, kitty cat_ , she told herself as she closed the space between them once more. _You're treading in a hot tin roof of paranoia there_.

 

Even in this vulnerable position he took her breath away. Selina trailed her fingers down his chest, tweaking his nipples with her nail and smirking in satisfaction when he rutted forward.  
  
"Do you want me, Bruce?"  
  
She dropped her hand to his cock and stroked him slow and steady. The glistening sound of precum coating his shaft and glans filled her ears like music.  
  
Bruce's muscles strained at the bonds around his body. "Y-yes," he rasped, all but bucking into the cage of her fingers.  
  
"What would you do to me right now if you hadn't let me tie you up?"  
  
Bruce eyed her questioningly, as if he didn't know whether or not to answer. Selina had all but released a modicum of the pressure of her fingers from his length and he caved, too needful of her touch to deny answering her question.  
  
"I would...touch you."  
  
"Not good enough," Selina said. "Where would you touch me, Bruce? Where would you start?"  
  
"Y-your sh-shoulders," Bruce said, his voice hitching as Selina continued to jack him off. Selina had never given much thought to shoulders as something erogenous, but the thought of those big, strong hands covering her exposed skin made her shiver. "Then I would...cup your breasts...through your clothes..."  
  
Selina took a deep breath, snaking her free hand up her dress and smoothing the valley between her cleavage. "What do you think it would feel like?"  
  
"S-soft. So soft and full and perfect."  
  
"Would you tear my clothes from me?"  
  
"N-no. I would pull your dress down past your breasts and pull your bra down."  
  
"Would you kiss my breasts, Bruce?"  
  
Bruce groaned, the sensations rippling from his cock and balls throughout the rest of his body wreaking havoc on his self-control. Selina smirked, smoothing the pad of her thumb over the slit of his cock.  
  
"I would kiss them," Bruce repeated her words. "And b-bite your nipples."  
  
Selina felt those sensitive buds of flesh harden under the lace of her bra.  
  
"I would snake my h-hand up your thigh," Bruce sighed. "And slip my finger under your panties."  
  
Selina bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. She was so wet now and she knew he could probably scent the heady perfume of her arousal this close up.  
  
"Would you fuck me with your fingers, Bruce? Stretch my pussy with your big, strong fingers and make me come for you? All wet and messy over your hand?"  
  
Bruce choked on his words. His neck arched backwards. Selina felt his cock throb beneath her practiced fingers. Smiling like a Cheshire Cat, she dropped her fingers from Bruce's flesh just as he reached that precipice of pleasure. Bruce Wayne—the true Bruce Wayne who was an amalgam of the man beneath the mask and the mask itself—did some things with as much brazen, primitive masculinity as the next set of balls. Being denied orgasm was one such thing; he let out a ragged cry of frustration, all but slumping in his bonds and staring at Selina with unbridled resentment.  
  
"Ah, clumsy me," Selina said with a careless shrug. "Although now I think of it, I don't recall giving you any permission to come. Do you?"  
  
"No," Bruce ground through gritted teeth. "You didn't."  
  
"That's a good boy." Part of her wanted nothing more than to see this beautiful, bound specimen of a man come a river. But she had the Batman and the Crown Prince of Gotham at her mercy, and she wanted him brought to his knees, begging and pleading.  
  
With a predator's pace, Selina circled Bruce, her emerald eyes locked with his cobalt steel gaze. Again, she wondered what in the world he was getting out of this aside from a thrill. She herself felt the assignation of what she wanted from it gnawing at the back of her mind.  
  
From her discarded bag, Selina withdrew first a pair of gloves from her Catwoman outfit. Bruce had stipulated no costumes, but Selina was never one to completely stay within the rules. Besides, these gloves weren't Catwoman entirely—just her claws.  
  
Selina pulled the durable material over her hands, licking her lips as she flexed the claws. She saw Bruce tense ever so slightly at the faint sound of air caressing razor steel.  
  
She wasn't going to hurt him; she just wanted to play.  
  
Within arms reach of his body, Selina ran the tips of her claws down his back. The barely there touch made Bruce hiss. Selina followed the trail of scars on his body like a road map; she delicately stroked the skin of his ass with her clawed fingers, reveling in the feeling of having him so willingly helpless.  
  
"Tell me why you wanted this," she whispered, continuing the teasing rake of her claws. She circled her free arm around his waist and toyed with the skin of his shaft, barely pressing her claws into his flesh.  
  
Bruce gasped. "I just wanted...wanted you to see me like this..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I'm always...in control and I...don't want to be anymore..."  
  
Something stirred in Selina's heart: a familiar pity for the man bound before her, one that made her feel suddenly profane for touching him in such a way. Hadn’t there always been this game of passing shadows and twisted smoke? Whenever they were together it had so much chaotic potential—and here he was, baring himself to the roots of his soul, letting his closely guarded control go—letting her play with it as if it were nothing more than a cat’s toy.  
  
Bruce’s muscles flexed; the bonds keeping him tethered groaned as he strained to turn Selina’s way.  
  
“Don’t stop,” he breathed. “I want more. I need more.”  
  
Reconciling herself to this role—to the guise of the whore—she let her grip slacken on Bruce’s sensitive cock. No longer did she want to inflict pain—she stroked him, slowly, languorously. If he was going to make her play this part, she wasn’t going to go for Oscar gold—not if it caused him pain.  
  
Bruce groaned; precum bloomed from the head of his cock like honey. His chest rose and fell with short, rapid breaths. Selina could tell that he was close, and she wanted not only to deliver him this moment of peace and pleasure, but to free him from these physical bonds. She didn’t want this anymore—didn’t want him so vulnerable and exposed. Bruce Wayne _was_ solid, substantial control—he _was_ pragmatism and calculation. Selina had, like everyone else in Bruce’s inner circle, thought that the man was buried beneath the bat. But now that she was here, seeing him like this, doing these things to him, she didn’t know if that was true.  
  
And that terrified the living daylights out of her.

 

Bruce struggled against the ropes criss-crossing his body and at the cords binding his wrists and ankles. His jaw clenches; his jerked his hips forward, thrusting his cock through the cage of Selina’s fingers. With barely a groan, he came, thick ropes of his hot seed leaking through Selina’s grasp.

 

Selina didn’t let go until she’d milked him for all he was worth.   
  
“More,” Bruce rasped.   
  
“I thought it wasn’t about what you wanted.,” Selina purred, feeling her heart weighed down with sudden disappointment.  
  
Eyes blue and gray as a steely sky met hers. His lips parted, but no noise escaped. Yet Selina knew full well what it was that he wanted—he was begging, pleading.  
  
“Hurt me more,” he whispered. “Please.”  
  
Selina’s hand fell from the softness of Bruce’s length. She stared into those earnest eyes, feeling as if she’d taken a slug to the solar plexus. The control she’d had—the control Bruce had wanted her to have for this very purpose—was rapidly slipping out of her grasp. And what was more, she was certain that Bruce knew it on some subconscious level—that he was playing on her seeing him like this.  
  
Or perhaps she was merely paranoid. This wasn’t a situation that called for lateral thinking, after all. Out of all the experiences she’d ever had—all the monsters and murderers and aliens—this had the potential to render her completely doubt ridden of her senses and her very soul.  
  
Bruce’s Adam’s Apple bobbed.  
  
“Selina...please.” He sounded as if he were on the threshold of relinquishing everything—as if he were bound for a stake burning or a hanging. All of Selina’s reservations fell away. She had to do this for him—had to make him feel what he wanted to feel because when had he ever had room for such a luxury?  
  
“I know you have it,” Bruce said.  
  
Selina’s pulse quickened.  
  
“Bruce?”  
  
“Please...I want you to...I need you to do it for me...I need to feel it...”  
  
Selina glanced at her bag. She had brought her bullwhip with her, but hadn’t seriously expected Bruce to want her to use it. It had been a precaution in case the need to suit up had arisen. Now that it was called upon, she wanted nothing more than to rid herself of her choice weapon.  
  
The bonds around Bruce’s extremities groaned as he tried once more to look at her.  
  
“Selina...” He almost shouted her name.  
  
“Alright,” Selina said. “Alright but—I decide when to stop. Do you understand me, Bruce? My whip, my rules.”  
  
She expected defiance. Hell, she needed the defiance—needed just a glimmer of that mask. But Bruce sagged, the fight going out of him in his acquiescence. He looked pitiful, defeated—broken, and as Selina took hold of her coiled whip, she found herself hating that she was agreeing to do this again.  
  
She stared at the broad strength of his body. How many times had she gripped those sturdy shoulders when they’d been together? How many times had she raked his back with her fingernails as he took her? He was so perfect, even with his scars, and even more perfect in this pitiful vulnerability.  
  
He was human.  
  
He was a man—the real Bruce Wayne beneath the persona he wore to fool the public; the real Bruce Wayne beneath the strata of the Batman.  
  
She wouldn’t break him. She would give in, yes, but she wouldn’t make him bleed.  
  
Her arm feeling like jelly, Selina cracked the whip, the lethal snap of it sending shivers down her body. But the sound was for show, and the leather merely glanced off of Bruce’s skin, leaving a pink line as opposed to the blood she knew he wanted her to draw.  
  
Selina swallowed and said, “One.”  
  
He wouldn’t let her stop at that. She lashed him again and counted off; her throat constricted as Bruce’s body spasmed at the contact.  
  
“Two...three...”  
  
She would stop at that.  
  
“More,” Bruce gasped.  
  
“I said—  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Bruce...”  
  
He struggled against his restraints like a man suddenly possessed.  
  
“Please.” His voice grew frantic. “I need you to hurt me. I need to you to punish me. You have to punish me.”  
  
“You haven’t done anything!”  
  
“I’ve hurt them all. I’ve ruined them. You have to hurt me. Tell me you hate me, Selina.”  
  
The whip fell from Selina’s grasp and thudded to the carpet. She hurried to him, seizing the restraints as continued to struggle and cry out.  
  
“Please tell me you hate me. You have to hate me.”  
  
“Bruce!” Selina sliced through the restraints—through the cords against his limbs and the rope tress along his body. He crumpled forwards and she caught him, her muscles too weak to support his weight. They fell to the floor, Bruce’s head on her shoulder. Selina felt hot tears against her skin, felt his shoulders heave as he dissolved into sobs.  
  
“Hate me. You have to hate me!”  
  
She couldn’t speak; she didn’t know what to say. So she held him, smoothing the marred skin of his back and holding him close as he cried like a child.  
  
Eventually he calmed enough to look her in the face. Moonlight streamed through the curtain, casting his tear-stained face in pale relief.  
  
His lips trembled.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  
  
Selina shook her head, brushed his tears away with her thumb, and kissed him softly.  
  
“I’m never going to hate you,” she said.  
  
He rested his head against her breast, and she held him there as if it were his only refuge.  
  
“I see that now.” He sighed, as if his heart were long past broken. “But them...”  
  
Selina shook her head again.  
  
“No, Bruce. They don’t.”  
  
“I’ve taken so much from them...”  
  
“And given so much in return.” She cast her gaze around the grand bedroom. “This is their home—your home. You opened it to them long before any of them wanted to help you.”  
  
Bruce sighed in disgust and got to his feet. He passed towards the window, staring out at the dark grounds below. “What can a home give them when they’ve been so broken by everything else? Jason died; Dick lost everything and has taken so many hits in the name of justice. And Timmy...he’s still just a kid and he wanted this. I tried so hard—so damn hard—to stop him but he was so persistent.”  
  
Selina’s fingers clenched into fists as she got to her feet. Despite everything that had just happened between them—despite the lust tiptoeing along the fringes her mind at the sight of Bruce’s naked body—she wasn’t about to let him descend into that chasm of darkness.  
  
“If you think for a second that you’re at fault for the evil in the world then you might as well check yourself into a mental institution tonight.”  
  
Bruce frowned. “I’ve—  
  
“No. You don’t get to talk. You asked me here—asked me to do this because you wanted to relinquish control, and you couldn’t even do that could you? Did you really expect me to start talking you into the dirt tonight, Bruce? Was that part of your fantasy here? That I’d spit on you and call you scum? ‘Cause let me tell you something, sweetheart—not even at my worst, most Lady Heather-like, would I ever do that to you.”  
  
Her body shook with a miasma of rage.  
  
“None of them would. They’d give you lip because that’s what kids are supposed to do. But they don’t hate you. Any of them. Just look at Jason. For the love of Christ, Bruce, the kid was beaten to death and thirsted for revenge and he still found his way home.”  
  
Bruce was silent for a moment that lasted an eternity. Selina saw the crease in his brows, and wondered if perhaps she’d gotten through to him.  
  
“There’s just so much pain,” he said.  
  
“There’s always going to be.”  
  
“I don’t want there to be.” He almost snapped the words. Selina flinched, prepared to rain holy hell down on him. But then she noticed that deep hurt in the reflection of his gaze. When next he spoke, he sounded so utterly defeated that Selina couldn’t help but cross the room and wrap her arms around him.   
  
“I don’t want them to hurt. I don’t want anyone to hurt, Selina. I’ve been doing this so damn long, and all I ever see is the pain. All I ever know is people getting broken and killed and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop any of it from happening some times. That family on the docks...that’s a legacy of trauma for the people who knew them, and it made me think about how I’ve been living since my parents were killed...about how nothing has changed. It’s only getting worse and no matter how much we push back, they push harder...”  
  
A million responses flashes through Selina’s mind, but she kept her silence. Holding Bruce close, she laid her head on his back, feeling his warmth and his strength.  
  
“You’re human,” she said at last, and she was surprised by how stunned her own voice was. “You’re really human, Bruce Wayne.”  
  
Bruce laughed bitterly, his forehead pressed against the window. “No need to be so shocked.”  
  
“What else can I be when you hide it so well?”  
  
“It’s just...it’s easier to.”  
  
“I know.” She herself hid it, although the veneer between Catwoman and Selina Kyle was so thin that the only thing separating them was the physicality of Selina’s costume.  
  
Bruce shook his head. “Maybe it’s not that easy after all. Not if it’s doing this to me...”  
  
“You have to make room, baby.”  
  
Bruce chuckled, warmly this time. “Baby? Never heard that one before.”  
  
“Objecting, Mister Wayne?”  
  
“Not at all, Miss Kyle.”  
  
“I don’t know what to do,” Selina said, hating herself for admitting it. “But I know that make-believing we’re Anastasia and Christian ain’t the way to go about it.”  
  
“Ain’t is bad grammar.”  
  
“And S&M is a bad form of therapy...well, for most people anyway.” She stepped between Bruce and the window and forced him to look her in the eye. “We’re fighting a battle that will never be won, Bruce. But I know one thing—we’ve saved more people than we’ve let die. And yes it’s been hard. You’ve lost so much and it kills me to see that, and I know it kills them. If you want to hate yourself, then there’s not a lot I can do about that. But I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever can after this. And the boys don’t hate you, either. They’re your sons, Bruce. Maybe not by blood, but by fire. They’re chosen family, and in my experience, that’s better than being blood.”  
  
Bruce sighed and turned around, taking Selina in his arms. His eyes crinkling at the sides with sudden mirth, he said, “Why can’t you ever just let the darkness devour me?”  
  
“Because I’m contrary, frustrating and obstinate—all three of which are my God-given right as a woman.”  
  
He kissed her, surprisingly softly given what it was that they’d been doing only moments before. Selina found herself clinging to him, needing the physicality of this moment to ground them both. She wouldn’t let him hate himself—wouldn’t let him seek something he didn’t deserve.  
  
When at last they broke apart, Bruce smiled softly at her. “Do you want to stay the night? I know after that—  
  
She pressed a finger to his lips.  
  
“It’s going to take more than a freaky scene to send me running out, Bruce.”  
  
“Thank God for that,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been doing too well lately. Hopefully this story hasn't suffered as a result. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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